Shadows From the Flame
by Outsiders Obsessor
Summary: No matter where he went, they haunted him. The screams haunted him. The tears haunted him. But, more than anything, the death haunted him. No matter where he went, Diablo couldn't escape his demons. They were always there, licking at his mind, body, and soul like a devouring pit of flames. And wasn't that ironic? Set pre- Suicide Squad. (Chato X Grace, featuring the Santana kids.)


**Shadows From the Flame**

 **Disclaimer: All canon characters belong to their respective owners. I, however, do claim the names of El Diablo's children and his dogs. (As his dogs were based on dogs at my local animal shelter.) If the names of his children are posted anywhere, forgive me, but I've only seen the movie three times and IMDB does not give the children any names. Other notes will be posted in the author's note. With that taken care of, onto the story!**

No matter where he went, they haunted him. The screams haunted him. The tears haunted him. But, more than anything, the _death_ haunted him. No matter where he went, Diablo couldn't escape his demons. They were always there, licking at his mind, body, and soul like a devouring pit of flames. And wasn't that ironic?

They crept up on him in the most unlikely of places and situations. The inner demons, I mean. When he laid down to go to sleep at night, the screams taunted him worse than anything.

"You ain't taking _my_ kids nowhere!" he thinks is what he yelled at her as he chased her upstairs to their bedroom.

Oh, how he'd loved her.

He hadn't meant to let it get that far.

He hadn't meant to kill her.

Chato Santana could get rid of most of his undesirable memories if he tried hard enough. Ones regarding his family, however, never went away. No matter how far he ran, El Diablo could not escape them. They clung to him like a virus, slowly killing him from the inside, burning his brain and even his eyes as the tears streamed down his face. The tears came often, trickling down his nose and cheeks in large quantities akin to the Nile River, or maybe the Mississippi. He really did regret killing his family in the confinements of their house due to his flames and pyrokinetics. El Diablo has never been famous for being able to keep his temper in check.

Chato didn't turn himself in because it was easy. He didn't turn himself in because he was tired of running. El Diablo _did_ turn himself in because he wanted to feel pain. He wanted to be punished for his actions by someone else even if only to get out of his own head for however long his punishment should last. He wanted to feel the pain and destruction he had caused that night when the fire claimed not only the house, but his wife and two children. All El Diablo wants to do is atone for what he did to the love of his life and the light of both their lives. Deep down, Chato Santana knew he could _never_ atone for the death of his family, no matter how hard he worked towards redemption. Even if the world forgave him, Chato would never forgive himself.

In the years he's been in his cell, Chato has spent nearly every waking moment trying to keep the memory of his wife and children alive. Scents come first in his memory for some reason. Grace always smelled of lilac and warm spices. The lilac Chato associated with Grace's perfume, and it mingled with both her skin and hair, welcoming him home with a smile on her face and a kiss for his lips. Chato would stroke one hand through her long, dark hair whenever he came home, wafting the scent of her lilac perfume into the air. The other hand Chato would wrap around Grace's waist, pulling her closer to his always warm chest where she would rest her head as he told her they were safe.

It used to be that his line of work was only to protect them from rival gangs of metahumans or gangs of regular humans who meant to harm El Diablo or his family.

The scent of warm spices reminded him of Grace as well, even though the scent was never present in Belle Reve. Grace loved to cook; it was one of her passions Chato learned about early in their relationship. Therefore, Grace did most of the cooking at the Santana household, though not because of a lack of effort by Chato. El Diablo—no, he was _always_ Chato around her—offered to cook with her, but Grace would remind him of the one time he had left the chicken on the stove too long and set the fire alarm off. Though, to be fair, Chato had been distracted at the time, going to the back door to let one of his shelter rescue dogs- a pit-bull Labrador mix named Lilo- inside from their backyard. The chicken had gotten too hot in the pan, sending up a cloud of smoke that made the fire alarm go off for fifteen minutes. Ever since that one time, Chato has never been allowed to cook on the stove. Grace did, however, allow him to mince vegetables or fillet any meat cut provided he didn't "chop any of his fingers off". Those had been Grace's exact words. They would never be able to laugh like that again. They would never be able to cook side-by-side in the kitchen with a soft Spanish song playing on the stereo as they chopped vegetables, seared meat, or prepared a dish in any other imaginable way. The times when all the food was in the oven, Chato would grab Grace's hand and waist and he would spin her around in a dance, happy to spend a tender moment with her. They would never dance again, and it was his fault.

 _It's all my fault._

 _I'm so sorry._

 _She's never coming back._

 _I'm so sorry._

 _It's because of me._

 _Grace is dead._

Chato leans back against the corner of his insulated cell. Tears form within his dark eyes, but they refuse to spill. He refused to let the guards who slaughtered the Spanish language see him cry. El Diablo is supposed to be stronger than that. El Diablo, yes. Chato Santana, however, the man behind the flames and tattoos, became emotional when thinking about his wife and children. He felt terrible for causing their demise in the harsh way that he did. He had never meant to let his powers cause them any harm, and he certainly did not intend to take their lives in the flames that consumed and haunted him every day and night. Chato couldn't control when the memories hit him, nor what sensations would overcome him with each wave.

Gabriela Sofía Santana. Chato traces the lettering on his chest, kept hidden from most of the world as his own precious secret. His baby girl meant everything to him. The oldest of his two children, Gabriela had stolen his heart from the moment Chato learned Grace was pregnant. The feeling never evaporated from Chato's heart; he felt it every time he was around his precious Gabriela. He associated sounds with his daughter; she had always been the more rambunctious and vocal of the Santana children. Chato loved to hear her talk. When she started talking, Chato made it his personal mission to be home every night in time for dinner in order to hear her talk about her day and what all had happened in his absence at the house or at school.

She had been a fiery one, his Gabriela. Able to make her Papa's heart soar and fall in weakness to her charms, Gabriela convinced Chato to do something he had only ever done for Grace. She asked him, almost on a nightly basis, to play the guitar for her. Chato could never say no to that face and those pleading eyes. And so, for the first five years of her life, Chato had played the guitar on a nightly basis and Gabriela would always fall asleep with her head in his lap. More times than not, Chato wound up asleep in his daughter's room, curled up with the innocent and perfect child that his daughter was. It always amazed him how this darling child was half of him and half of Grace. His heart swelled with love for his little family, and it still does, even with them gone from this world and inhabiting the world above filled with angels.

Nicolas Chato Santana. That name curves down Chato's ribs, almost curving behind his back due to the placement. His son had been another great blessing from his darling Grace, and the boy added just as much light to Chato's life as Grace and Gabriela did. Chato associated sights and how surfaces felt with Nicolas. Even at an extremely young age, Nicolas seemed to possess a photographic memory, able to call up pictures or situations he had only seen once. The same could be said about Gabriela, though her memory was more geared towards auditory information rather than visual recognition. Both of his children were incredibly smart, able to pick up and understand new topics almost as fast as they could be taught. Chato still firmly believes to this day that they got all their brains from Grace. Now, Chato Santana was not dumb by any means, but he claimed to have more street smarts than book smarts. And yet, it was Chato who taught the kids to play guitar and helped them to understand their history homework, a subject he knew he could do justice to. They had both been gifted from the start, so much so that Grace had put them in accelerated classes as soon as they began at school. And Chato couldn't have been prouder.

When Chato had found out Grace was pregnant with Nicolas, his first reaction had been utter joy as it had been with Gabriela. But then, after having to explain to his two-year-old baby girl that she would be a big sister to the new baby in her Mamá's tummy, Chato realized just how life would change for him in a drastic way. He would have to split his time between three people now, not just two. Chato had come to the conclusion that splitting his time between three people once Nicolas came along would be a challenge more so than when Gabriela was born. Back then, he did not have to explain to a child why her younger brother or sister was getting more attention. Back then, he didn't have to worry that Gabriela would feel she was being neglected when her parents were either planning for or dealing with the new baby. Chato's fears wound up being superficial. Gabriela had practically doted on Nicolas as soon as she saw him for the first time. His children had a positive relationship with one another that Chato only wishes he had with a sibling of his own.

Unlike Gabriela, Nicolas did not ask his father to sing him to sleep with the guitar every night. Even with this being said, the youngest Santana child did learn to play the guitar under the instruction of his Papa. The activities Chato engaged in with his children varied upon the time of year and child. Gabriela wanted to play soccer every month of the year, not caring how hot or cold it was outside. She _loved_ soccer; it was one of her passions that she pursued. In fact, Gabriela actually became the captain of her school's soccer team, and she led her team to an undefeated season where they would win the state championship. Chato would help her practice outside when she was finished with her homework. She had gotten extremely well at faking him out and making him expend all of his energy early. Often times, the father and daughter would end up in a pile of limbs, both laughing and smiling from the pure fun they have together. When they were finished playing soccer, Chato would send his daughter upstairs to take a bath while he checked in on Grace and Nicolas. For a while, his son was content on just playing board games or the occasional video game with his father, as Nicolas had an earlier bedtime than Gabriela until he was seven and she was nine. However, after getting an extra hour to stay up- per Grace's decision- Nicolas suddenly became interested in playing outside with his father and sister after finishing his homework.

While both Santana kids loved playing soccer with each other and with their parents, Nicolas liked baseball more. For his seventh birthday, Grace and Chato bought their son a bat, a baseball, and a glove since he had been going on for months about wanting to play. Chato taught Nicolas how to hit the ball, as the metahuman has always been known for his ability to make contact with anything being hurled at him in hurtling speeds. Grace, on the other hand, taught Nicolas to pitch and how to catch the ball in his glove. During the summer, the whole Santana family- including Chato's two shelter rescue dogs- would stay outside for hours during the evening playing baseball together. They would never play two-on-two baseball in the backyard again. They would never be together as a loving family again, and it was all his fault.

 _It's all my fault._

 _I'm so sorry._

 _He's never coming back._

 _I'm so sorry._

 _It's because of me._

 _Nicolas is dead._

As Chato lay down to go to sleep that night, voices began to speak outside his cell. Oh, great. He _loved_ visitors to come by and taunt him. If only the seemingly undereducated prison guards could hear his sarcasm.

"Hey, Waller said somethin' 'bout hidin' these letters from our mutual friend," one of the lesser known prison guards speaks up.

"Who? Floyd?" Griggs' voice echoed through the courtyard as it bounced around El Diablo's ears.

"Yeah. The man's daughter writes him almost every day! Girl's got some dedication towards her Pops; I'll give her that," the first guard stated as he stopped near the opening of Diablo's cell.

"It's kinda pathetic, really," Griggs commented, and El Diablo felt his blood begin to boil and small flames begin to lick at his fingertips.

"There ain't nothin' pathetic about a girl writin' to her Daddy, cerdo," Chato said in a clipped voice, his attitude unable to be held back.

"You know I don't speak none o' that there Mexican, ese," Griggs taunted as he continued to slaughter the Spanish language.

"Don't matter. It don't matter what age, race, color, you name it, a girl is. A baby girl should always be able to write letters to her Papa, no matter if he's a villain or not," Diablo announced his thoughts on the matter as he continued to feel the flames itching to be released from his hand.

"Aw, the girl's thirteen next month! That's too old to be writin' to her Daddy every day like she's some baby!" Griggs yelled, and began to activate the switch near Diablo's cell.

"Thirteen?" Diablo rasped out, his voice rushed and thick with emotion.

"Yeah, thirteen! You hard of hearing or somethin', ese?"

The flames poured out of his hands before Chato could stop himself. He aimed them at the wall where he though Griggs was standing on the other side. Gabriela would have been around that age, being only a few months younger than Zoe Lawton, daughter of the infamous hitman Deadshot. No matter how frequent or infrequent the letters would have been, Chato would have cherished them all and memorized them to where he could eventually recite all of them by heart. But, Gabriela couldn't write.

Gabriela was dead.

 _It's all my fault._

 _I'm so sorry._

 _She's never coming back._

 _I'm so sorry._

 _It's because of me._

 _Gabriela is dead._

The water poured into his cell, effectively erasing all shadows from the flame. But, nothing anyone would ever do could extinguish the flames of guilt and cherished memory from Chato Santana's heart.

 **Author's Note: And there it is! My first** ** _Suicide Squad_** **FanFiction is finished! I am very pleased with how this turned out, and I am actually a bit surprised I was able to complete a one-shot like this one. It is not in my usual writing style to do a fic comprised mostly of description with dialogue being contained in only a paragraph. That being said, I am very pleased with how the final story turned out, and I hope all of you dear readers enjoyed it as well. All reviews or favorites on this story will be gladly accepted, as I believe they help me determine what it is about my stories that people like, loved, etc. or what they think I need to improve on. Thank you to all of you who decided to read the story; I greatly appreciate it! There will definitely be some more** ** _Suicide Squad_** **stories from me in the future, primarily ones regarding El Diablo/ Chato Santana, as he is my favorite character in the movie. Well, that's all I have to say other than have a good morning, evening, or night, my dear readers! Oh, and until next time!**


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